Road Whose Course Does Not Turn Back
by The Madman From The Bronx
Summary: Eight months after Pacific Run, S.P.I.E.D. investigation turns up suspicious activity at a long-dormant dig site that could hold the key to both the past and the future. With the help of old case contacts, Nancy Drew must find out what's going on… and brace herself as a battle between the personal and professional arises among the chaos of newfound feelings. Continuation of Answers
1. Chapter 1

On the afternoon of February 27, the blue sky was calling. Nancy lay on her bed with her arms splayed above her head. It would have been nice to stay at home, sit for a little while, enjoy the time between cases (however briefly it lasted), and be reminded that a second was only as short or as long as it lingered in the mind. However, as usual, there was too much to cover before enjoying herself. For the day she had to stay in the house to match and retain the gravity of her rumination. A minute in the lovely, cheery outdoors, and all good thought would float up from her like a balloon.

~_The Day Before_~

A football sailed over the blue convertible.

Nancy smiled wanly as she started up the engine and pulled out of the driveway, watching her rearview. The kids waited until she was halfway down the street before doddering over to her backyard, carrying their childish din farther from her ears.

She loved River Heights.

Of course, she had to love it… she was born here, and, for the time being, it looked like she would be spending a lot more time here. This most recent case felt like it would be her last—at least, the last of its type.

Blinking as a strand of titian hair blew into her face, Nancy turned on the radio to stop her thoughts. She had already given this plenty of deliberation, certainly enough to be considered well-informed when she arrived in Bayport.

Most of the time Nancy found her mind preoccupied with the latest… just because the investigation stopped didn't mean her thoughts did. So if the day had been full of ivory chunks and poacher profiles, it would have been a very normal day, indeed.

But of course nothing was that cut and dried.

The images plaguing her now were eight months old.

Nancy lay her head against the headrest and put the car on cruise control.

Funny how you didn't know your life had been on the rail until derailing, now as her life's calling started slipping away.

A familiar voice on the radio caught her ear. She turned it up.

"-any indications as to which way the network is leaning?"

"_Light Of Our Love _is still going strong, I'm happy to report," a male voice replied. "We haven't heard from the network yet, but we're hopeful for the green light for next season!"

_Light Of Our Love_…?

"It's been announced that Serena is leaving the show after this season. How has her departure affected the star element? Can we expect to see any new names for this show?"

Serena! It sounded so familiar, Nancy mused.

"It's still too early to tell," the interviewee laughed. "And somehow I'm always the last one to know about these things."

"This is Pattie Williams reporting from WWB in New York. Thank you for talking to me, Rick."

A switch turned on in her mind. Rick Arlen! Of course! It had been...

Nancy paused.

Exactly _how long _had it been?

She sighed and switched off the radio.

The rest of the drive was spent in silence. Nancy tried to concentrate on the road. Usually someone called, making it easier.

Usually Ned.

Nancy bit her lip.

Ned…

In any case, no one called.

In any case, she had more important worries now.

When the "Welcome to Bayport" sign swept past her, Nancy was prepared. Soon she was pulling into the Hardy's driveway as Frank and Joe played football in the backyard. She perked up a bit. They always managed to cheer her up, even without saying anything.

Fenton Hardy stood on the porch, and now he came down to greet her.

"Hello!" Nancy smiled brightly and shook his hand. "Thank you for talking to me."

Fenton returned the smile. "Always a pleasure, Nancy."

"Hi Nancy!" Joe called.

She waved at him before Fenton led her into the house and then into the living room. He gestured to the seat opposite him. She sat.

"How did your last case go?"

"Kind of shaky. A hard one to solve. I had to stay on my toes." Nancy clasped her hands in her lap. "I thought it was a little weird at first. Like maybe I was getting worse at solving cases. And that would be strange… I've been solving cases since I was sixteen."

"And you're how old now? Twenty?"

Nancy nodded. "It's gotten difficult." She moved her thumb back and forth over the back of her other hand. "After I thought about it, it seems most likely that I'm just less believable as a teenager. More people are recognizing me, anyway. On that last case my cover was almost blown. The people whom I was investigating were suspicious from the get-go, and I had to solve it fairly quickly, since what little trust they had could fall away so easily. And it's so easy to do background checks nowadays. Last week I was visiting my friend in Vermont, and people looked at me as if they knew who I was." Nancy laughed. "That was a big tip-off."

"Seems the news of your work has spread," Fenton said wryly.

"Unfortunately." She looked down, surprised by a small red crescent on the spot just vacated by her thumb. "I'm afraid I'll never be able to work in the same way again."

"That's life." Fenton leaned back in his chair. "I left NYPD and moved here when Frank and Joe were quite young. Nothing like looking into the eyes of your sons when a case has gone sour. I knew I had to keep them safe; it wasn't just about me and Laura anymore."

"I've thought a little about options," said Nancy, forcing her hands still. "Until now, college wasn't possible. I would have been away too much. I'm not sure how much it would help at this point. How much of it do you think would be valuable to me, Fenton?"

"Hmmm." Fenton's mouth tightened in a contemplative frown. "Studying criminology or forensics could help, I suppose. One has a social focus while the other is scientific. So if you did choose to study criminology, psychology would couple well with that. However…" He paused. "Those are designed to prepare students for a career in investigation, as well as other disciplines, but for your sake we'll focus on that. You already have years' worth of practical knowledge and experience, so I'm not sure how useful four years of studying criminology will be. You might learn a little more in the forensics program because it is a more specific study and you might know less about it, but, again, it comprises merely part of the skill set for this type of work, work at which you've already proven yourself to be proficient. Of course extra knowledge doesn't hurt, but the question is in whether that knowledge is worth four years of study, some of which will be overlap."

"Okay." Nancy said. "And I think it's too early for me to start off as a private investigator. I'm still too young."

"I agree." Fenton looked at her. "And I'm guessing that this is your main point of concern?"

"Too old to continue what I'm doing right now and too young to keep going in the same career path? Yeah, that's pretty much it. I'm looking for some sort of bridge, I suppose."

"Have you considered police work?"

"Yeah, I have." Nancy bit her lip. "Most private investigators start off that way, I know. You did."

"What do you think about it?"

"I don't know. I've done so much already, it feels like it might be a bit the same… and without the travel, you know? It feels a little inhibiting." She looked up quickly. "Not that I don't think police work is useful or admirable, I'm just not sure if it's for me—at least right now. And on the other hand, a lot of my friends have started going to college. I've always been curious about that."

"Do you think that would be better for you at this point?"

Nancy opened her mouth to speak, then stopped. For a moment she sat, trying to reconcile the quiet in the room with the clamor of her thoughts. Then she tried again. "I don't know what I think. Or what I want. I'm comfortable with what I'm doing, and I'm not sure which choice will be easier to adapt to. If I go to college, I'll probably wind up studying at the police academy anyway. At the same time, I'm not sure how I feel about doing the same things in the same locations right now. It seems…"

"Boring?" Fenton grinned. "It can be. Especially before you get out of uniform. Patrol is hardly ever fun."

"Mmmm-hmmm," Nancy said, trying not to frown.

"However, working on the force will give you credibility as a private investigator. It will show that you know how to work with others—most likely you'll be working with a partner—it will give you access to sophisticated forensics equipment and teach you how to use it, and it will encourage you to hone and develop your investigating methods. You've already built a name for yourself, but this would even further strengthen your reputation."

Nancy's mind raced. She needed to at least _consider_ police work, she told herself. After all, it had been good enough for Fenton for a long, long time. It would offer an added skill set, and it was obviously his favorite choice. Still… "I could be a reporter," she added aloud. "Mom did that for a while."

"You could," said Fenton. "That provides good training for your investigation methods, as well. Journalism places a high emphasis on ethics and objectivity, both important in knowing your boundaries and ensuring that you are always fair with those whom you investigate. Also, the objectivity helps in clearing your head from any sympathies with suspects. Those focuses give a definite precision to your investigations. When you consider all possibilities equally, even the ones you dislike, you will always find the truth or what is closest to the truth."

She nodded slowly. It sounded promising, especially the "fair sleuthing" bit. She had a bad habit of looking through other people's bags without permission, which was probably illegal. _Was_ it illegal? The question had been itching at her mind for the last few years now, but she was always too tired to remember to check. By the time she did remember, she was already on another case. And investigative reporters _had_ to obtain their information legally; if not, it couldn't go into what they wrote afterward.

But the contents of those bags had been instrumental to solving the cases in a timely manner, so what would the solution be to that? The _lawful_ one? Nancy winced. Damned if she knew. It just meant that she had to find other ways, lawful ways, and to do that, she would have to become a better detective. More observant.

There was still so much she needed to learn. Nancy felt a headache coming on. Now _all_ of the options sounded good. "Are there any other plausible options you can think of?" she asked.

"A rather simple one," Fenton said right away. "Talk to your father. See what he can tell you. You won't need to represent or fight anyone in court, obviously, but if you know how a criminal might think, that would be helpful in reconstructing or even solving a crime. Chances are, such dialogue won't go on your resume, but people will know you by your name. You've got that connection—use it," Fenton said. "As a matter of fact, you have to be twenty-one to enroll in the police academy. If you decide to go that route, you've got a little downtime."

Nancy smiled. "Thanks. As it is, I think I'll have a little downtime anyway, since I have a lot to consider."

"You certainly do." Fenton replied with a spark in his eye. "Try not to be too worried. Change is exciting. You may not feel stable right now, but remember that you're still quite young."

"I will. Thanks, Fenton!"

"Anytime, Nancy. I wish you the best of luck."

They shook hands again, and Nancy left. Frank and Joe had gone. She was too tired to talk, anyway. An eight-hour drive took a lot out of anyone.

~_Present_~

Stifling a yawn, Nancy stretched her arms up and back. She had left early this morning and returned just two hours ago, going straight to her room. She hadn't moved since.

She had fought it. Bed is for sleeping, she told herself. Desk is for making decisions.

But—

The yawn forced its way on her.

That was her answer.

She turned onto her side. Everything was changing in her professional life—

And in her personal life—

Shutting her eyes tight, Nancy forced herself to think of something else. She and Ned had made their choices. No use thinking of what if.

Back to the present dilemma, the professional life, the vibes that told her that continuing on such shaky ground could be dangerous—

It was odd, but they weren't the kind of vibes that scared her. They just gave her straight knowledge, the feeling that if she went on doing the same thing she always had, someone would catch her, which would result either in her being taken off the case or stuck in a situation she might not be able to get herself out of.

That would put a damper on productivity for sure.

But what about all the cases that would just slip by, and all the trouble that wouldn't be stopped—

No. Nancy gritted her teeth. She _needed_ this time. Every second of spare time she had before the next case was precious. And now, with more calls than ever, the next case could be tomorrow or the day after that.

And she would be no good to any client until she got these problems ironed out.

Her eyes snapped open.

That was it. She would go on hiatus. No more cases until this was all sorted out.

No matter who called.

That way the torrent of problems would stop for long enough for her to _think_.

Sufficient progress, she told herself, and breathed and sank back into the covers. Already she was losing consciousness as her head hit the pillow.

"Nancy?"

She jolted.

"Yeah?" she replied.

"You've got a visitor." Carson called up the stairs.

She sat up. "A visitor? Who?"

"I don't think he's from around here."

That tipped her off. Nancy hopped off her bed and left her room.

"He told me his name when he called. I believe he said it was—"

Making quick work of the stairs, Nancy greeted her father as she passed him and redirected her attention to someone standing in front of the piano, looking away. Windows washed out the drawing room. Her vision began to readjust as the figure turned.

And as she saw, she stopped.

"Sonny Joon," she muttered.

He had kept the purple frames for his glasses, and that was about _all_ he had kept.

For his hair was orange like the sun. A bright, light shade, the kind you got from looking at it for too long.

And she couldn't help but notice how it brought out his brown, brown eyes—

Nancy cleared her throat. "Sonny Joon. Good to see you." I guess, she added to herself.

"Likewise!" Sonny grinned. "This is official business. Want to grab pancakes?"

* * *

**AN: Yep! A lot going on here. Nancy is twenty. (I'm taking liberties.) Going through a quarter-life crisis. No longer dating Ned. (More to come on this—I promise I didn't just do it for convenience.) And… Sonny Joon?**

**I've gotten a bit of Nancy/Sonny interest with my other story and nobody else has done a longer fanfic on it as far as I can see. CeliaEquus wrote a darling piece called "When Sonny Met Nancy" where they bump into each other, though, and at the end said that someone should write a romance between them… so instead of editing my novel from last November, I'm doing this. (Figures.)**

**So this is going to be as much about growing up as it is about growing together. Nancy's been the same age for a really long time now, and it's time for her to think about her future. Same with Sonny, who appears to have been job-hopping for most of his life. :P**

**Another thing I'd like to do with this story is bring in some past suspects—dash of nostalgia, if you will.**

**The title is a translation of a Sumerian phrase: "Ana Harrani Sa Alaktasa La Tarat." Road Whose Course Does Not Turn Back****…** Dramatic, huh? Man, I hope nobody dies…

**Note: Nancy solving cases at sixteen isn't taken from the games… it's a nod to the original series, in which she was sixteen starting off. (They changed her age to eighteen for the rewrites.) Also, NYPD is a nod to the original Hardy Boys series. I'm a nerd so I like to nod to stuff. *nods vigorously***

**Okay, I'll shut up now. Please review! Tell me what ya think! (Seriously****, **_**please**_**—it helps me as a writer and also just makes me really happy****.)**


	2. Chapter 2

As usual, curiosity plagued Nancy. Why had he come here? Was he in the area? Was it—she closed her eyes—a case?

So soon after she had decided she wasn't taking any?

Nancy winced. She was less experienced at refusing cases than she was at solving them.

And was it strictly business… or something else?

Nancy wasn't sure which she preferred.

"How'd you get here?" She asked as they drove to Pancake City.

"Flew into Akron-Canton, took a shuttle into Canton. Drove the remaining fifteen miles here. Kept on the lookout for food since I haven't eaten all day, place where we could sit and talk. Pancake City looked good."

"You do realize it's the afternoon?"

"Of course," Sonny replied lightly.

"Where did you fly in from?"

"D.C."

"Why?"

"I," Sonny's eyes darted sideways, "had some unfinished business."

Nancy kept her eyes trained on him. "You going to tell me what that unfinished business is?"

"Yes." Sonny flashed her an uneven grin. "After I tell you everything else."

As evasive as always. Nancy drummed her fingers against the side of the seat. "Would it have killed you to have called?" she asked.

"Well, you see…" Sonny began, "I didn't think I'd be needing you until a few hours ago. I do apologize for the late notice. I was able to find your home line in the online yellow pages for River Heights, but you weren't there. And I didn't have your cell. Your father said that you were expected back in a few hours and that I could drop by when I got here."

"Right," Nancy said, looking forward. "I was still driving back."

"From?" Sonny glanced over at her.

"Seeing a friend," she replied.

"He seemed wary until I mentioned my name." Sonny said after a pause. "Tell him about me?"

"I tell him about people who are generally trustworthy, yes." Nancy turned her head and looked at him. "Though for you it's a stretch."

Sonny sucked in air through his teeth. "Ouch."

"It's a precaution to avoid running into people who have a grudge against me."

"Well, I do have a grudge against you." Sonny grinned at the road. "You get all the Koko Kringles you want _for free_ for the rest of your life."

"Ah, now that's a deep grudge," Nancy replied. "You must be nefarious."

"Any chance that, if this goes well, you'll give some of them to me?"

"Probably not," she said.

"Is that negotiable?"

"No."

"Well, I understand the precautions you take with your safety." Sonny turned into the parking lot of Pancake City. "But I certainly don't understand the precautions you take with your candy."

"What do you mean?" Nancy asked as she got out of the car.

"Bess told me you keep them in a locked cabinet."

"I do." She walked ahead.

"Nobody wants to steal my Koko Kringle bars," Sonny said sadly. "It seems that a general appreciation for them is lacking."

Grateful that Sonny couldn't see her at this point, Nancy unsuccessfully tried to stifle a smile. She had to admit that this beat driving alone.

In the restaurant they were seated immediately. Apparently Friday afternoons weren't too crowded. Soon someone came to take their order.

"May I have the Pancake Cite Supreme combo with a side of fruit, please? The ham and cheese omelette and two pancakes? Also, a coffee." Nancy smiled when the waiter nodded. "Thank you."

"Five pancakes with chocolate syrup, please." Sonny looked up. "And do you have grape juice?"

The waiter left and was soon back with their drinks.

"So, to what do I owe the… pleasure?" Her eyes scanned him from head to elbows to table.

Sonny picked up on her hesitance. "What?" He asked quietly—almost bashfully, if Nancy let her imagination run away from her. "Is it the hair?"

"No, Sonny, it's not the hair. Although," she gestured to it with half a laugh and half a scoff, "_orange_?"

"Orange."

Silence.

"So," Sonny mixed his grape juice vigorously with his straw, "how have you been?"

Nancy nodded. "Good, good. Busy with cases, you know."

"Yeah, cases." Sonny echoed, looking down when juice sloshed onto his hand and the tip of his sleeve. "Uh, does this stuff come out?"

"It's probably about ten percent juice, so I'd say yeah."

"Good to know."

"How have you been?" Nancy asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

"I've been." Sonny reached for a napkin. "Been doing… things."

"Yeah? Why did you come to River Heights?" She asked, staring him down as he did so.

"To talk to you," Sonny replied, looking briefly up at her.

"I gathered." She replied coolly, fighting the temptation to look at her watch. However many (or few, more appropriately) minutes had passed, she was already sick of his literalisms.

Sonny sighed dramatically. "Guess we're past the niceties, then. You want the details?"

"Yes."

"Grandpa Jin's lead turned out. We only needed to spend two weeks there before finding another piece." Sonny looked down at his drink and shrugged with a little smile on his lips. "Or something that explained the piece, rather. They're still working on translating it. Might be more information on the artifact we've found. Jin pieced together the operating instructions for the compass, but we've got little historical background about it or how the Māori viewed its significance. In hindsight, it's fortunate that Jin found as much as he did without the other information. Normally you find the information about something's significance before finding that something, since it usually _introduces_ that something. What's odd is that he pieced it together from various parts of the world, and the artifact obviously dates from a time which would make transpacific travel almost impossible. So it seems that these other cultures heard about the device without ever seeing it."

"Or maybe it's a coincidence and in all cases it's a generic device being described," Nancy interrupted. "Or possible mistranslation."

Sonny laughed. "Unfailing realism. I like you. Anyway, the relic we found appears to use the actual Proto-Germanic language. The current Proto-Germanic language wasn't actually used; it's mostly reconstructed from patterns of development in newer languages. It's older than Norse, we know that. Probably older than Proto-Norse, although it's hard to tell because Proto-Germanic and Proto-Norse are so similar and the text we found was incomplete. There's very, very little of it, as a matter of fact. Hardly enough to comprise a definitive sample of any ancient language."

"Then what makes you so sure?"

Sonny shrugged again. "Call it a hunch. Most of the relics we find predate 200 C.E. That's around the time when the Proto-Germanic language developed into Proto-Norse. In any case, our find is pretty significant, but because it's incomplete it's not as big a deal to the archaeological community."

"Wow," Nancy said flatly. "Bit of a boring story to come all the way out here to tell me in person." Apparently he had higher priorities than telling her right away anyway, since it had been eight months, she noted with annoyance. Despite the uselessness of the visit, however, she was relieved that this didn't appear to be a case proposal. He had come for, in his words, niceties, judging by the way he was trying too hard to be friendly. So her hiatus still stood. Although…

What if it was something else?

"That's not the story," Sonny said quickly. "Well, it's part of the story… actually, it's not. Just wanted you to know how that wrapped up. Another member of S.P.I.E.D. turned up an interesting bit of research."

Her heart sank. "Really?" Nancy tried to sound disinterested. To her chagrin, she was no longer merely pretending to humor him.

And no longer fooling herself in thinking she could suppress her curiosity should another opportunity for a case arise.

"There's this place called Usrique," Sonny began.

And didn't continue.

Instead he focused on something long past her. His eyes glazed over.

"Yes?" Nancy prompted.

"Hang on. Trying to figure out where to start with this story."

Placing her hands in her lap, Nancy waited. Across from her Sonny muttered to himself. Whatever this story was, she thought to herself, it had better be good. Good, as in, it had better beat that follow-up phone call with Fenton she had had to cancel as a result of this little impromptu pancake date.

She shook her head. Coffee _outing_. Not _date_.

"Yeah. Okay," Sonny straightened in his seat. "Okay. There's a lot to cover. Usrique is an ancient Mesoamerican city, dated to the third millennium B.C.E., I think. It's also a dig site. There's a dig going on there—well, there had been one for a while anyway. There are indications, and I think it might be the next step."

"Great." Nancy watched the steam in her coffee rise. "When do you get to go to the dig site?"

"Never!—or, at least, not soon—" he amended, "that's the problem!" He slumped and rested his head in his hand, looking down at the table. "It's involved. And weird. There's overlap."

As usual, Nancy had no idea what he was talking about. She found it didn't frustrate her as much as it used to; now she merely sighed and waved him on.

"Most people agree that Mayan civilization dated back to the early second millennium, late third millennium B.C.E. Around 2100 to 1800 or something like that. The stuff we've already found from the site is allegedly from the late third millennium, which is either when Mayan civilization supposedly began or slightly before that. And by slightly I mean a margin of roughly half a millennium… 'late third millennium' could be 2300, maybe. 2100 is late _late_ third millennium." Sonny's eyes lit up again. "And if Mayan civilization started at the later time, that's about five hundred years. This site is already pushing the envelope. These are the oldest artifacts from the Americas. What's odd is that there are so many of them—you'd think they would be rare. And what's odder is that we keep finding them."

Sonny paused, thinking. When he spoke again, the spell was broken, the excitement gone from his voice. "Or, we _had_ kept finding them," he said, returning his attention to his juice.

Nancy looked blankly at him.

"It's a gateway to an early civilization," Sonny mused, "maybe even earlier than we thought. And such an abundance of clues… It's almost as if they want us to know. Like it's time."

Nancy nodded. She knew what "they" meant—it meant the Annunaki. But just because she understood didn't mean any of this made sense. "If this is such a big deal, if this is a gateway to an earlier civilization, then why doesn't everybody know about it? Why aren't Mexican officials looking into it?"

"Because nobody's sure of the dates—they're just estimates. So the Mexican government doesn't consider this a priority, according to Alejandro."

"According to whom?"

"Alejandro. Alejandro del Rio."

Nancy blinked. "You kept contact with him?"

"No, but I called him, and he remembered me. He was the only guy I knew who might know about these artifacts and might care about their suspicious disappearances." Sonny continued. "By the time the Mexican government does consider this a priority, it might be too late. They don't, though, because the official dig there ended before carbon dating was around. And estimates can be off by hundreds of years… do you know about the Hymn to Nikkal? The oldest song we've found?" Sonny looked up at Nancy.

She shook her head.

"When it was first successfully translated in the seventies, it was estimated to date from 1800 B.C.E. Today everybody says that it's from 1400 B.C.E. Weird, huh?" He smiled. "And that was when we _had_ carbon dating. So the same could technically be true of the artifacts excavated at Usrique. But it doesn't feel right."

"How can it not feel right?" Nancy objected. "You've never been to the site. You've got nothing to go on but the facts, which don't call for immediate suspicion. How do you know how it feels?"

Sonny bit his lip in contemplation. "Because we're connected on a planetary, on a universal level, when dealing with these ubiquitous themes and questions about human existence. Things feel a certain way no matter where you are in the world. Just because that sense is stronger in some places doesn't mean that it's nonexistent in others."

Yep. Nothing Sonny said made sense. If only Nancy could throw in the towel on this harebrained scheme; if only her curiosity didn't always get the better of her… she grimaced. "So, what's the problem? Why not go to the site?"

"The site is closed off." Sonny leaned forward. "Archaeologists were digging there for fifty years—fifty _years_, Nancy." His voice rose with his zeal. "And there was so much to be found that things were still turning up when they stopped in 1941."

Nancy frowned. "Why did they leave so suddenly?"

"World War II was getting hairy. They lowered the draft age, and a lot of the diggers had to go." Sonny paused. "The site hasn't been touched in over seventy years. Supposedly."

"Supposedly?" Nancy repeated.

"There's been an influx of artifacts of the ancient Americas in museums all over the world. It's been all over the news. I talked to Alejandro about it."

"And?" Nancy's voice lowered.

"A few of the artifacts have turned up in museums in D.C., and he's been investigating some of the provenance documents. They're _brand new_ in almost every case. He contacted consulates of other cities where they've been turning up. Same thing."

"What's the significance of that?" she asked.

"They're said to have come out of ongoing digs," Sonny replied. "All of them. So why so many artifacts, and why so fast?"

"None of the digs are ones that started recently?" Nancy asked.

He shook his head.

"What's your angle here, Sonny?" Nancy crossed her arms. "Last time I saw you, you were headed for goodness knows where—"

"—Norway," he clarified. "And as for why I'm interested in this…" Sonny leaned more forward and murmured, "the goggles."

"Goggles?" Nancy sputtered. "What—"

"Shhhh!" Sonny's eyes darted around. "The Annunaki were said to wear eye-goggles for flying. Space travel."

"Why the sudden apprehension?" She raised her eyebrows. "Nobody will hear what you just said and take you seriously."

"That's what _I_ used to think," Sonny said, jaw set. "But now… Nancy, that artifact we found. It got a lot of people's attention. And right now this is too important… they're being too secret about it; I can't have other people knowing that I want to find out about this because it might get back to them and then I'll never even be able to find out what's going on."

"I think you're being dramatic."

"Maybe I am." Sonny took a deep breath. "I need to study this civilization. I've got to."

"Then… study it," Nancy said hesitantly. "You said there's an influx of these artifacts, right? Well go to the museums and study—"

Sonny silenced her with a look. "I don't mean the texts, Nancy. I mean the civilization. I need to study it as a whole, not in bits and pieces. And in order to do that, I have to know where these artifacts are coming from."

Contemplating this, Nancy drummed her fingers against the table. "I don't know what you want me to do," she said frankly.

"Well," Sonny began, eyes darting down to his juice, "I'm not sure how much I need you at this point. You'll be out of the crossfire, so it won't be dangerous like…" he paused "Like last time."

Nancy wondered if that was _concern_ that had flashed over his face before he moved on.

"Alejandro managed to talk the consul general into calling the governor of Yucatán. Long story short, she's allowing us to investigate. In exchange for information, they're giving us immunity."

"What do I have to do with that?" Nancy snapped, growing impatient.

"Well, um, you see," Sonny cleared his throat, "Alejandro sort of dropped your name. And the caveat is that you have to be involved."

She gawked at him. Was he _serious_?

"Otherwise the investigation is sort of a joke, since, um, they see us as a bunch of alien freaks. And because we have no experience in detective work."

"Well, that's your problem." Nancy rose and started to leave. "Thanks for the afternoon pancakes."

"Wait." Sonny followed her, grabbing her arm. "Nancy. Come on. No need to be so hasty, right?" Sonny smiled, but it was a nervous smile. "Just think about—"

"I'm on hiatus from cases."

Sonny froze. His smile disappeared. "Nice one. _I'm_ not that bad at lying."

Nancy whirled around. "I am not taking cases right now. That isn't a lie. It was true before you came, and it still holds."

"How long before I came?"

"Fifteen minutes." She replied defiantly.

He frowned. "Nancy, you are _always_ on cases. If you don't want to work with me again, just say so."

"I don't want to work with you again," Nancy said. She fought to keep the surprise off her face. She'd never thought it would be that easy, turning down a case.

"Fine." Sonny turned and started to walk away.

Nancy's hands clenched in aggravation. When she heard the car door opening she trotted over. "What do you expect?" She hissed. "I'm not taking cases. Things are not great. And I really don't know why you're here right now."

Sonny's brow creased in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Why you? Why now? I don't hear from you in eight months, then suddenly you turn up and want to pretend that time hasn't passed? That we can pick up where we left off?"

His expression changed. "_Oh_."

Finally, _she_ was able to say something that would catch _him_ off-guard, Nancy thought to herself in satisfaction. But alas, she hadn't taken advantage of his surprise to walk away. By the time the thought had crossed her mind, it was too late.

Sonny closed his eyes and shook his head a couple of times. "That's not why I came back. I'm over it. I'm over you."

"Uh…" Nancy froze, grasping for words. "Really?"

"Yep! It was one kiss, and we really don't have that much in common. So you don't have to worry about unrequited feelings."

"Why would you assume they're unrequited?" Nancy asked before she could stop herself. Rhetorical question, she assured herself. Just her curiosity at work again.

To her relief, Sonny only shrugged.

"I'm still on hiatus from cases," she said.

Sonny shook his head. "No you're not."

Nancy closed her eyes, forced herself to be patient. She couldn't believe this guy. "I'm not taking any cases right now, okay?"

"No you're not. You're addicted. Of course, you're free to think what you want. In the meanwhile, I'll try to find someone else." He got into the car and closed the door.

"Um…" she repeated. Her mind stalled. She tried to force herself to think and work through it like she always did in a state of panic. Over her? Really? Even _Ned_ wasn't over her this fast! He hadn't stopped calling for two weeks, although she suspected that he did that because he had felt sorry for her.

Nancy straightened. She had hated that feeling. That was the _last_ time anybody was ever going to feel sorry for her—and claim to know more about her than she did.

But the ill feeling didn't leave her. Her heart seized as the engine started.

She rapped on the window. "Hey!"

Sonny's eyebrows rose. He rolled down the window.

"Fine!" she barked.

"Fine?" Sonny's countenance lifted. "As in, yes, you'll do it?"

"Yes," she replied, rubbing the back of her head dazedly.

"Great!" said Sonny. "I've—."

"Yes," Nancy spoke again, "_but_ only if you tell me the truth—everything—upfront, Sonny. No surprises. I'm not getting myself involved in something without knowing exactly what you want me to do."

Sonny quickly nodded. "What I told you is honestly all I know at this point. And I already got the lecture regarding hijacking television shows and leading everyone there under false pretenses from Jamila." He paused. "I certainly understand your wanting to know everything before agreeing. Why don't you fly to Cambridge with me so we can discuss this with Henrik? Not holding you to anything."

Nancy peered down at him with pursed lips, considering.

"I wanted to call you as soon as Governor Moreno called me and asked for you on this assignment. That's why this is still in a rough stage. Maybe I jumped the gun, but I, ah," Sonny examined his hands, "I was excited."

"I know the feeling," she muttered. It wasn't the first time she had seen herself in that puzzled stare. "I'll go."

He brightened further. "Great! I've already got your plane ticket."

Nancy's eyes narrowed. "Awfully presumptuous, don't you think?"

"No. I, uh, was wondering the whole way here whether I wasted that money. So I'm just lucky."

"What time are we scheduled?"

"5:15."

"Well, looks like you managed to persuade me just in time," she said dryly. "Where to?"

"Cambridge, Massachusetts. Henrik works at Watson - Harvard's museum of art and antiquities. Needless to say, he hates me." He admitted. "But he doesn't hate you. That's the second reason for my visit."

"Probably because I didn't make a paper airplane out of the Beech Hill loan agreement." Nancy got in the car.

"Hey! It was a good idea, and I stand by it." Sonny started to drive.

"Was there an occasion?"

"Fired. I was celebrating."

"And, um, talking to Henrik, that all you need from me right now?"

"Maybe?" Sonny replied with a one-armed shrug.

* * *

**AN: Ooo. They have a backhistory? Is Sonny really over Nancy? Is Nancy really over Sonny? Will the author ever stop asking stupid questions? :P Please review and tell me what you think!**

**This basically picks up where my oneshot left off, but it's not necessary to read that to understand the story. However, if you would like to read (and review) it, please do.**

**Final notes: Usrique is not an actual place, but Girsu is! (Due to laziness and an acute lack of creativity, I simply spelled it backwards, swapped the g with a q, and added -ue in an attempt to Mayanize it.) The circumstances were similar; people were digging there from 1877 to 1933, and they weren't even done when they stopped! I read about it in **_**Twelfth Planet**_**, which is a pretty fascinating book… just not very credible. Not to me, anyway. Sonny might like it. Parts of it, anyway. I dunno.**


	3. Chapter 3

Henrik Van Der Hune adjusted the dust mask over his mouth and nose. No matter which way it went, it was uncomfortable and left an itchy circumference around his nose and mouth. With a muffled sigh, he gave up on that endeavor and tried to focus on the stela that overspread his desk and hung a few inches off the side. It wasn't often anymore that he had to clean artifacts—in fact, he had had to run out and get a dust mask because he didn't keep them on his person anymore—but the normal person who did it had come down with the flu. Watson Museum had all the staff it needed for pinpoint specialization, plus separate people for cleaning and general maintenance to ensure that the specialists could specialize to their hearts' content.

The itchiness sank through his skin to his brain as his eyes followed the brush over the glyphs, longing to get to them, the _real_ work. It brought him back to his Beech Hill days, and he chuckled to himself. Some things never changed.

There had been the less desirable strolls down memory lane, as well. Sonny Joon had called him a few days ago.

Perhaps he should have talked to him, but he hadn't had time. Mayan relics had a way of commanding his attention.

So much, in fact, that when two chatting people entered the room, a boy and a girl, he continued working. They weren't museum staff—he had committed the footsteps of everyone who worked here to memory—and they sounded like students. On he continued with the brush, even managing to forget in the meanwhile that he wasn't alone.

"I thought I'd better start the conversation now since you didn't look like you were going to stop anytime soon."

Henrik looked up.

A young redheaded woman stood over him with narrowed blue eyes and a little frown. "Cleaning artifacts?"

"Nancy… Drew?" he asked tentatively, standing.

The corners of Nancy's mouth rose. "It's good to see you, Henrik." Apart from a little more graying at the temples and the wrinkles now touching his eyes, he looked exactly the same.

Henrik flashed her one of his own rare smiles. "Well, what a lovely surprise."

"And now you're at Harvard." She laughed. "I take it Joanna wasn't too thrilled."

Henrik pursed his lips and drummed his fingers together. "Despite her… ill humor, I stayed on until Beech Hill was better than on its feet. By the time I left, it has earned a reputation. And since Joanna is in a perpetual state of upset, I don't believe my departure had any exceptional effect on her."

"How long have you been working at Harvard?"

"Just under two years. So what brings you here?"

"Well, Sonny and I—"

Henrik looked up. His heart seized. There had been something vaguely familiar about that head of strangely-colored hair, and once he looked closer, he saw that it was indeed his erstwhile colleague.

And he was examining one of his relics!

"More apt a question, what is he doing here?" Henrik asked, forcing his voice level as Sonny moved closer. "Please don't touch that."

Sonny whirled around. His free hand came within a few inches of the artifact as he did so.

Henrik's head began to spin. He sat again.

"Henrik!" he bounded over. "Long time, no see, eh?"

"Yes." He blinked, covering up his desk with a cloth and taking off the mask.

Nancy walked forward. "We were hoping you could help us," she began.

"Us?" he repeated dully.

"Yes," Sonny cut in. "You know that weird dig that's going on in Mexico I was talking about on the phone a few days back? Well, Nancy's going to help, uh, maybe," he looked at her, "and hopefully we all come out of this having learned something!"

"Apparently not if I choose to work with you again," Henrik muttered under his breath.

Sonny appeared not to hear in his wide-eyed excitement, but Nancy did. "We'd be in Mexico, far away from here," she leaned forward and said in an undertone. "We just need you to help get us there, if you're willing."

Nodding briefly, Henrik turned to address Sonny. "I must confess that I wasn't listening to your phone call. My mind was elsewhere."

Sonny's face fell.

Henrik sighed. Sonny wasn't a bad sort. Even if it was odd for him to be chagrined over Henrik's inattention when he failed to listen so many times himself. "What's this about?" he asked.

"Usrique. I'm sure you've heard of it."

"Yes. What's your interest in it?"

"I've been doing some of my own research on ancient cultures for years, which has led to some interesting finds in some interesting sites. Based on what I've been hearing in the news, this may be the next step."

"Yes, but what are you trying to achieve by all this r—oh." Henrik closed his eyes as he remembered. Over the years and series of horror stories retold, Sonny had become a ball of action with a complete absence of being. Somehow he had forgotten who Sonny _was_ in the turmoil of all that he _did_.

And the boy was an alien believer.

Sonny began to speak into the silence.

"More of your theories?" Henrik asked at the same time.

"Yes, though that's not what I would call them," Sonny replied. "Besides, isn't any kind of interest in Mayan culture better than it going ignored?"

"That depends on whether the artifacts lie in the right hands and are treated with respect."

"They would be," assured Nancy.

"Hmmm," Henrik said, looking from one to the other.

Sonny took this opportunity to pull up a lab stool and quickly explain what he planned to do. Nancy stood behind him and offered brief interjections, usually to offer an odd word or two he was looking for when he couldn't articulate them.

"The Mexican government is behind you on this?" Henrik asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes—the governor of Yucatán," Sonny said. "Others don't think that there's immediate cause for alarm, but the governor thought it might be a good idea to take a look at the site once it was brought to her attention, since there are signs of suspicious activity."

Henrik chuckled. "And who better than Americans to check it out?"

Nancy's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, my dear, that Mexican officials can't afford to look like a herd of clods should nothing turn up. They want foreigners." Henrik folded his hands on his desk and hooked his fingers lightly over the cloth-covered stela to prevent an upset. Sonny's eyes were back on his things. "You do know what you're getting into?"

"I have an idea."

"You're pitching yourself headlong into a hotbed of underground money and prestige. If these people know who they are and they hold a grudge against you, they will find a way to get rid of you. Nobody there is going to be your ally. You probably shouldn't fully trust the people I'm sending you with, either. You're safe here now, and you'll probably be relatively safe when you're out. However, I hate to think what would happen if your cover is blown. I've dealt with these people, as you know, and it seldom ends well." He turned to Sonny. "You're risking your life to do this, and you're risking hers. I would sooner put my life in Nancy's hands than in many others', but consider the risk as well as the amount of help you're getting. What is the governor offering you?"

Sonny tapped his foot against a metal rung of the stool. "Witness immunity. That covers our part in illegal activity by participating in the dig."

"No monetary compensation?"

"They're paying for the plane tickets."

Henrik scrutinized Sonny without blinking, waiting for him to continue.

"They're allowing me to do my own investigation there," Sonny said quickly. "There's no reason for money."

"I see," said Henrik. "And what makes me think that I can help you, or that I want to?"

Sonny gazed at the edge of his desk. "Um…"

"I saw that rather unfortunate drawing you made of me." Henrik said, uncovering the stela and grabbing his brush and mask. "Perhaps I don't go in to the doctor for routine checkups as often as I should, but I daresay I would know if there were a tumor of that size on my head."

"That wasn't a tumor," Sonny started to say before Nancy shot him a warning glance.

A long, uncomfortable silence followed.

"I also saw the one you did of Taylor." Henrik continued, making sure the mask was secure over his face before smiling.

Sonny cleared his throat. "That was a long time ago."

"Not so long as you think."

"I'm sorry. Your head is tiny—uh," Sonny stopped himself, "I mean, perfectly… normal-sized?"

Henrik returned to his work, nonplussed. For two months he had suffered at the hands of this hurricane nightmare. Sonny could certainly take the strain for a few measly minutes.

Nancy and Sonny exchanged glances, afraid that he was angry. Then they looked at him. Growing impatient, Nancy opened her mouth to speak, but Sonny held up a hand.

Although he kept his face carefully blank, Henrik had already made up his mind. Maybe it was the fact that he, too, had drawn an unflattering portrait of Taylor Sinclair—albeit thirty years ago, when he still had an afro—that endeared him to Sonny's current plan. Granted, it was a terrible reason to help anybody, especially anybody so irresponsible, but at least he'd be updating the history books again if this site was as old as alleged. Just the thought of the codices there, telling new stories and proving once again that history was open-ended, already had his heart beating faster.

Looking up at Nancy, he finally spoke. "Well, I would hate to see such an important discovery marred by careless excavation." Henrik paused. "A few years ago, I had a contact at the Uxmal dig, which is relatively nearby. Dr. Hector Fuentes, who is now retired. Uxmal is in the Puuc region, relatively close to Usrique. I'm guessing that the proximity of the dig to other Mayan sites has better allowed them to blend in."

Nancy's eyes sparked with anticipation. "Can you get us there?"

"Yes, I can. But it'll be far less suspicious if I send you as part of a larger group. And I first have to contact Dr. Fuentes so that they'll be expecting you. I haven't talked to him in some time, and it will be done discreetly; I am sure that no connection can be traced beyond him back to me."

"Do you have anyone in mind?" Sonny asked.

"A few people, yes." Henrik said thoughtfully. "There's a vagrant who works in the Puuc region to gather information for a research project he's working on. I give him information on dig opportunities so he can make a living and stay on in the region, and in return he provides me information on digs and the excavation of certain relics. He can probably help you. You'll also need someone to look into the black market end of things without arousing suspicion. Prove that there are ties to the dig in question. Nancy, you run the risk of blowing your cover if you ask too many questions, and Sonny, you lack any trace of discretion whatsoever."

Apparently deep in thought, Sonny simply murmured in agreement.

"Does either of you know anyone trustworthy who can infiltrate the black market?"

"Jamila mentioned somebody." Sonny thought aloud. "Some tour guide she met in Egypt. Dressed like Indiana Jones, was a bit of a jerk according to her."

"Sounds like Dylan Carter," Nancy said.

Sonny nodded. "That's who it was."

"He was trying to get a connection in the black market on one of my past cases," she explained to Henrik.

"Well, Nancy, the fact remains that I still owe you dearly for your help in unearthing Amoxcalli's words and seeing that they made it into historical records. This is certainly the least I can do for you in return. If there's anything else I can ever do for you, feel free to drop by. And," his smile faded slightly as he regarded the other, "Sonny, I suppose it's good to see you again."

"Likewise!" Sonny stuck out a hand, which Henrik gingerly shook. "You're a credit to your museum!"

"Thank you so much, Henrik," Nancy said as they embraced.

"Pretty soon I'll like to bring a colleague of mine out here to meet you," Sonny said. "Her name is Jamila El-Dine."

Jaw set, Henrik nodded. Briefly he wondered what he was in for—Sonny's cohorts as Sonny facsimiles, or perhaps a pleasant surprise. He decided it most prudent to prepare for the first and hope for the latter.

The drive back to Boston Largon International Airport was short and largely silent. Because most everything had been explained on the plane and drive up, there was nothing much left to say. Both were too tired for pleasantries.

After walking to Nancy's gate, Sonny turned to her. "It's a bit of a mess. But what do you think?"

Almost immediately Nancy said, "I'll do it."

* * *

"Are you sure about this, Sonny?"

"Really, really sure."

"Just a reminder that he hasn't exactly proven himself trustworthy in the past."

"I know you don't like him, Jamila. I'm just asking you to talk to him. Then send him to the States, and you'll never have to talk to him again."

"What's to say that he won't sell us out for people at the site if they're willing to pay him more?"

"Look, if feel that strongly that he shouldn't be involved, I won't bring him on. You're of sound judgment. But can you talk to him first before making that decision?"

"I suppose it couldn't hurt."

"Yeah, considering that we don't know anybody else who has or did have ties to the black market and is relatively trustworthy." Pause. "You sure you're okay talking to him?"

"Yeah. I'll take care of it," Jamila adjusted her umbrella at an upwards angle so she could see the clock in the square. She frowned. "And don't think I've forgotten what time it is there. You'd better get some sleep."

"Yes, man," Sonny yawned. "Ma'am."

"Talk to you later." She hung up, stretched out her thumb, and began dialing again. She took the few seconds of ringing to run through a mental list of affordable cafés. If Dylan was as poor as she thought, then it was highly likely she'd be picking up the bill.

The phone rang twice before someone picked up. "Hello?" asked a sleepy voice.

Jamila laughed dryly. "It's 11 AM, and you're sleeping?"

"Who's this?"

"This is Jamila El-Dine. Perhaps you don't remember me. I was at Nefertari's tomb."

"Ah! Pseudo-spacegirl." Dylan said. "What can I do for you?"

"You can meet me for lunch. I need your help with something."

"Where?"

Jamila blinked. She hadn't expected it to be this easy. "Red Leaf, 13 Bedford Row. One sound good?"

"Yeah."

Two hours and five minutes later, Jamila sat alone at a table in the window, her fingers curled comfortably around a cup of hot tea. Of course the window hadn't done much good after the rain came down harder and the fog settled in. At this point she could only hope that late meant late and not no-show. Thanks to the rain and the imminent company she already wasn't in the greatest of moods. If she had to sit another hour in damp clothes she would soon grow dour.

Finally Dylan strolled in with water trailing down his sleeves and pant legs. He took a few steps and craned his neck in several directions, apparently in no great hurry, and waved gaily when he saw her.

"You're late." She said as he approached.

"Sorry. Traffic." He slid into the seat opposite her. "So, this a little Egypt reunion then? Quite nice, I must say."

"Are you still trying to find connections to the black market?" Jamila asked the second he was finished talking.

Dylan's eyes widened, and he blinked a few times. "Ah, I, um," he stuttered. At a loss for the right answer, if Jamila had to guess.

She sighed. Apparently she would have to help him out by telling him a little of the assignment. Oh well. Fair was fair. But it still made her less happy than if he was honest of his own accord. "How is the guide business going?" she asked.

"Terrible," he blinked again, still in mild shock.

"Good. My friends and I just might know of a new place for you."

"New as in… brand new?" He leaned forward slightly.

"No other guides," Jamila said. "We have a job for you regarding your… skills."

Dylan paused. "What exactly does this involve?"

"Trying to find a connection again." Jamila shook her head and corrected herself. "Actually, no, not trying. Finding a connection."

The gleam in Dylan's eye was unmistakable, although he at least had the decency to point out that he had promised not to engage in such transactions anymore. "What's your interest in the black market, anyway?" he asked coolly.

"I am interested in some suspicious relics that are probably being sold illegally. I would like to study them, but I can't if I don't know their whereabouts."

"So, scrapping the eloquence, you want to expose black market dealings."

"I want to track those pieces." A waiter arrived with a dish that Jamila had ordered before Dylan came. She thanked him.

After ordering and receiving his own food, Dylan continued the conversation. "But your priority is finding out for sure whether they went through the black market."

"What makes you think so?" Jamila examined the tablecloth.

"You hate the black market and everyone in it."

"Do I?"

Dylan laughed. "Jamila, as a person who deals with people day in and day out, I'm fairly expert at knowing what people think of me, and I know for a fact that you hate me. Almost as much as you hated Abdullah."

Jamila looked up. "That would be true," she replied, unrepentant.

"Besides, if you care about artifacts, you hate the black market by default."

"Which is why you would be so helpful. I suspect you don't much care."

Wincing, Dylan averted his eyes. "Look, artifacts aren't just money to me. But they are money, and I'm a little short on that these days."

Jamila studied him. From the threadbare shirt to the way he picked at his salad a little too nonchalantly before taking bites, she grudgingly accepted that what he said was probably the truth. "That is why I'm here," she said. "We can pay you if you look into things. And after a little while, you can set up tours there."

"'We?'"

"Of course, 'we.' Did you think I work alone?"

"And where exactly is this?"

"First things first. Are you willing to help us?"

"Smart of you." Dylan nodded. "How ironclad?"

"If you help us," Jamila began, "you will be automatically authorized to do tours in that particular place by the national government. I already squared that. And if you prove yourself trustworthy and helpful in this endeavor, there will be less red tape for setting up tours in other places." Thank goodness the governor had still been up when Sonny had called about the tour guide idea, she thought to herself.

"But where is this?"

"Which do you love more?" Jamila asked. "England, or being a tour guide?"

Dylan groaned in exasperation, rolling his head back until he was looking at the ceiling. "Can you at least tell me the general vicinity before I sign over my services?"

After a pause, Jamila acceded. "Mexico. Yucatán Peninsula."

"Oh." Dylan brightened. "Well. The way you were going on about it, I thought you were going to say Antarctica."

"Well they certainly don't have any tour guides there," Jamila said wryly.

"This sounds pretty good, I must say."

"I feel obliged to warn you that there is a certain amount of risk. Not much, mind you, seeing as you are only providing us a little information in return."

Dylan rested his hands behind his head. "Risk never scared me."

"You in, then?"

"Yep."

"Well, good. That takes care of that."

"Speaking of," Dylan's eyes lowered to the bill their waiter just placed in front of them. "I'm utterly humiliated to ask this of you, but…"

For a few moments she considered this. "Are you really that bad off?"

He leaned further forward. "I haven't worked in a month," he whispered.

"I see." She stared down at the bill. This wasn't Dylan's style of manipulation.

"I promise that sometime I'll take you out to the best dinner of your life. Ritz or better."

Exaggeration. Trademark of the showman.

"Forget it," she replied.

"I try not to forget things, or people. So I guess I'll be seeing you?"

"No. I won't be going to Mexico."

"Ah." Dylan offered her a wan smile. "Well, in that case, until we meet again."

* * *

After he had taken care of everything with Dr. Fuentes, Henrik went back to his trusty HAM Radio to make a second call.

3,000 miles away in the hills sat a lonely tent with a young man sitting outside of it. He wiped his brow. The temperature had grown several degrees cooler at dusk, and the sweat on his clothes began to chill him. With his long dark bangs out of his eyes, he could see for a moment.

When something within the tent started to crackle, he stilled and sat up straighter. Squinting at a row of dots on the sun-rimmed horizon, he pushed his shovel off his knees and crawled inside. One table, one radio, and a pile of sheets comprised his main belongings, plus a messy stack of photos next to his "bunk." His eyes went immediately to the radio.

"Dutchman calling Rex. Come in, Rex."

He picked up, twirling the microphone between his fingers. "This is Rex." Rex of X would be a cooler name, he thought to himself. Too bad it was too late to suggest it to the old man.

"I've got an assignment for you, Rex."

"You do?"

"You're out in the Puuc region, right? West portion?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Have there been people out there?"

"Looks like it."

"Good. How's your project going?"

"Not well."

"Well, hope you don't mind doing some more digging in that downtime. I know about some people in the area who are looking for work. They'll pay you."

"Money, huh?" The word was almost foreign on his dry tongue. "Just to keep digging? Is there anything you want from the site?"

"I'd like it if you could keep an eye on the other diggers."

The young man frowned. "Exactly how much is this paying?"

"It'll pay enough to keep you in the area a little while longer to do your own work on the side. And since the Puuc region is a little sleepy right now for dig sites, I highly suggest you go there to work."

"Look, man, I owe you for your telling me where to get work around here. That's helped a lot with my project. But this sounds dangerous."

"Not if you don't appear suspect, which you won't. Just leave the radio out here for a while."

"You mean, don't contact you?"

"Precisely."

"What about this little setup we've got? What if you need to contact me with other job opps?"

"That won't be necessary as long as you're at Usrique. If something happens to your old HAM in your absence, I'll wire money to Tekax to pay for a new one. Meanwhile, if you could just keep your eyes open, that would be very helpful to me. Think you can do that, Mr. Talbot?"

Lou nodded to himself. Then, remembering at the last moment that Henrik couldn't see this, he picked up the microphone. "Okay, Dutchman."

* * *

…**And this isn't going to be the last appearance of a former suspect! It's going to be the last one for a while, since the latest chapter is chock-full of them, but I already have a couple more ideas up my sleeve. I mean, I'll try not to cram this story with **_**too**_** many of them, but this is definitely something I like to do. Perhaps there will even be a magical cameo appearance by ****SPOILER! ****Mr. "Mexican-archaeologist-who-is-really-a-Russian-acrobat-who-is-really-a-Canadian-Mountie-who-is-really-a-Jamaican-fisherman-who-is-really-an-Australian-accountant-who-is-really-a-talent-agent-and-failed-actor-Nancy-thwarted-when-she-was-like-sixteen-in-a-long-forgotten-case-who-is-actually-dead-and-being-impersonated-by SOMEONE! ELSE!" Dwayne Powers. ****ENDSPOILER! ****(But in all seriousness he probably won't.)**

**I'm aware that this story is moving along rather slowly, but I promise that I'll have everyone in Mexico early next chapter!**

**Also, I know almost nothing about HAM radio jargon and don't know if one "calls" someone on it, and I was too tired to research it much. So please tell me if I made any gross errors, and I'll go back and fix them later.**


	4. Chapter 4

"So, when exactly did Jamila stop her insanity act? Afraid I must have missed it while I was in hospital."

"It came up in conversation," Nancy replied offhandedly to Dylan as they left baggage claim at Manuel Crescencio Rejón Airport in Mérida, the capital of Yucatán.

"That's not exactly something Jamila would just tell you. What I mean was, how did you find out?"

Nancy looked down at the feet of someone twenty feet ahead and shrugged. "I, uh, stumbled on it."

"Whose stuff did you snoop?"

"Nobody's, okay? I just found it."

"Just like you 'found' those credentials of mine."

Nancy grimaced and didn't answer. She had to work on snooping-related excuses.

"Has she always been so smart?"

"You'd have to ask her that."

"You never told me she lives in London."

"Until now, you didn't seem so interested."

Dylan raised his hands. "Just trying to make sense of what's going on here. Until last week, nobody wanted anything to do with me."

His words drifted farther from Nancy's mind as she looked toward the other three designated diggers who had flown out with them. Until then they hadn't been able to talk properly. A short layover in Atlanta had left little time for introductions, and they all had been sitting far apart on the plane. But it was fairly easy to tell who from whom—the woman was Holly Klee, the Scandinavian man had a Scandinavian name, Norgaard, along with blond hair and light green eyes, and Richard Reeves was the other man left by default. The two men were chatting amiably while the woman faced away from them, arms crossed high over her chest. Although they were close to the transportation area, they had stopped walking.

Approaching them, Nancy asked, "Why are we stopped?"

Alexander Norgaard smiled and nodded at an orange head some distance ahead. "He told us to wait here."

Nancy looked closer. Sonny and an older man were engaged in conversation near the doors.

"They've been talking for a few minutes already," Richard Reeves added with a laugh. "Seems they've forgotten about us. Were you two detained at baggage claim?"

Nancy nodded. She preferred to travel discreetly. Her suitcase was black, a common color, harder to pick out from the other luggage.

Dylan's, on the other hand, was lost.

For another minute or two everybody stood around, saying nothing to one another. Dylan began to whistle.

Shaking her head, she walked past them and over to Sonny and his acquaintance. "Hello, Sonny."

Sonny looked over, surprised. "Hi, Nancy."

She turned to the stranger. "I'm Nancy Drew. Is there anything I can help with?"

"My name is Hector Fuentes." He bowed his head slightly. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Henrik told me to be expecting you. Mr. Joon and I were just working out the travel details. It is a two-hour drive from Mérida to Tekax, and from there there is a car to take you to the dig."

"Has it already been arranged?"

"No." Sonny muttered. "Apparently Henrik made the arrangements for Tekax, but he expected me to take care of getting us to the site."

"It's not a problem," Dr. Fuentes assured quickly. "We're just in the process of finding drivers who works intercity. Most of the ones readily available at the airport only serve Mérida. The only reason why we're not able to make arrangements more quickly is because the size of your party necessitates two cars. At the moment only one is available."

"We called in another one, but it'll take a few minutes," Sonny added.

"What about shuttles or vans?" Nancy asked.

"No vans available. As for shuttles—it is too far. No shuttle will take you to Tekax. And there is an ongoing transit strike, so you can't be bussed in."

"That's all right; it sounds like we're doing everything we can do."

"So, you are interested in archaeology." Dr. Fuentes said to Nancy. "A PhD student?"

Nancy chuckled. "Afraid not. Just interested."

He turned to Sonny. "What about you?"

"Yeah, at one time. I left the program."

"While I am no longer a professor, I remain obligated to direct interest toward the Universidad de Guanajuaro. Wonderful archaeology and anthropology programs. I highly recommend."

Nancy smiled. With fondness she remembered Jon Boyle's sitcom-addled expressions and Professor Hotchkiss's inability to recall names. She suspected that she'd go to college just for the quirks of the professors and to try and discover what made them tick.

It felt so fantastic to be on another case.

Sonny turned around and waved to the others.

Tentatively they waved back.

He shook his head and waved again, beckoning them.

Individually they approached. Dylan sauntered up to them first, unhampered by the weight of luggage. Alexander followed with long, deliberate strides. Richard attempted to keep up by walking faster, and Holly brought up the rear. "What's the holdup?" She asked when she arrived, half a minute behind the others.

"Second car," Sonny said. "Could take a while."

Dr. Fuentes' phone rang. He picked up.

Holly looked down and shifted her weight from foot to foot. "I didn't go on sabbatical for this," she muttered flatly.

"What did you go on sabbatical for? Thought the main point was just to get away from the students." Richard stretched nonchalantly. "Know I'm sick of picking up after them."

"Some of us have loftier aspirations, Mr. Reeves," Holly replied frigidly, missing the joke.

"True," he replied, unfazed.

Holly turned away from everyone and looked pointedly towards the doors. She moved stiffly, Nancy noticed, no doubt from sitting in a chair so much. She probably hadn't been on a dig in years. Richard had the hunched posture of a janitor, but he also had open body language. Alexander, who hadn't spoken in a few minutes, was much harder to read. Right now his attention was elsewhere, and he was neither smiling nor frowning.

"Well, that was fun," Dylan said festively. "Hard to say whose aspirations are loftier when we're all at the same altitude."

Sonny snickered.

Nobody else did.

Dr. Fuentes continued to mutter in Spanish for a spell before hanging up. "Thirty minutes," he announced.

Holly's expression soured.

Alexander massaged his temples.

Richard just pulled his lips inward and sat on his suitcase.

"I'm very sorry to leave you at this point, but I only expected to stay for a short time, and I'm needed elsewhere," Dr. Fuentes continued. "It's been a pleasure."

The others said their goodbyes, and he left. Nancy, Dylan, and all the others went to stand closer to the doors. Sonny stayed where he was.

A few minutes later there was a sudden movement in Nancy's peripheral vision.

Sonny sent her a subtle two-fingered wave, trying not to attract additional attention. "Traffic's horrible," he mouthed. "May be longer."

Nancy squinted. Her vision was good, but he was too far away.

He repeated the statement.

Understanding this time, she nodded and then pointed to the others.

He shook his head. "Tensions."

Nancy walked over to stand next to him. "Only five or ten minutes, right?"

"Yeah," he said. "They're just driving from downtown, apparently. Seems better not to worry them since it won't be much longer."

Holly looked suspiciously at them.

Nancy leaned closer to the side and spoke low, her hair brushing Sonny's cheek. "Yeah, 'tensions' is correct. What exactly happened to me being out of the crossfire?"

Sonny laughed nervously. "You can take care of yourself, right?"

She turned her head to look at him. "Rhetorical question, right?" she murmured with a little grin.

"Of course." He replied. "Happy to be on a case?"

"Probably."

"Hiatus after this?"

"Too early to say."

"Sonny!" Dylan interrupted.

They looked up as he moved toward them.

"Since I lost my luggage, I was wondering if I could mooch a few things off you." He lowered his voice. "Been meaning to ask you. Anybody bothered to explain why we're in the safest state in Mexico, and they haven't bothered cracking down on, erm," he raised his eyebrows, "activities?"

Nancy took a quick look around to ensure the others were out of earshot.

"I've already checked," he told her. He nodded to where Alexander stood outside. Holly had started in that direction. Richard was gone, presumably to use the restroom.

"You've done your research," Nancy remarked.

Both turned expectantly to Sonny.

Sonny rolled his eyes. "I see how it is. I'm supposed to know everything." He took a dramatic pause, then continued. "But I do actually know this one. Yes, it's the safest state in Mexico, but keeping it safe takes a lot of effort apparently. And you've got diplomacy, Dylan. We all do."

"I know, I know. It just seemed a little bit odd. And I figured this'll be the last time we'll be having clarificatory conversations. But I thought that maybe someone from the government is… involved."

"It's possible," allowed Nancy, "though I need to get to the site to be able to draw any definitive conclusions or even get an impression."

Soon the cars arrived. Richard climbed into the front while Nancy, Dylan, and Sonny crawled into the back. Alexander and Holly took the second car.

Nancy had been the only one not to sleep.

At times it was lonely when no one shared her vigilance, but she contented herself with surveying the people around her. Now was one of the only times she could do so without having to be discreet.

There wasn't much to observe from the back of Richard's head except for the fact that he had a stiff neck.

Looking to the opposite end of the car, Nancy saw that Dylan had slid forward in his seat, and his head stuck to the window. A few times he stirred when his head knocked into it on some of the rougher turns, but he went largely undisturbed.

Tapping a spot on her forearm near her elbow, she redirected her attention to Sonny, who was crammed in the middle. He hadn't appeared to move from his conscious state to sleep, his face was engaged but untroubled. He'd fallen asleep before he got the chance to take his glasses off. How could he sleep, though, being squished like that? For a moment Nancy wished she had taken the spot least comfortable for sleeping since she didn't plan on doing so. It also would have given her a better vantage point to observe the others and see what she could figure out about them, she added quickly to herself.

As she continued to study him, Nancy wondered briefly what she looked like at the end of the day, curled up and conked out after sleuthing. Miraculously she managed to avoid sleep deprivation despite all of the traveling and the lack of down time, sort of like she skirted concussions from all of the blunt trauma to her head. And fortunately, on a scale from zero to Casey Porterfield, she'd only been mildly scrambled in the aftermath.

Now that more people were recognizing her, she knew she had to be careful—trust nobody completely, not even Dylan.

Or Sonny. She still knew too little about him.

Yet as he slept, half-departed from the world, he looked completely guileless.

And now she found she could almost read him.

She shook her head. Trust had to come by objectivity and informed choices.

Not by impulse. Not by accident.

He shifted slightly, and his eyes opened.

Nancy blinked.

"Are we there?" he asked blankly.

"No," she replied. "What woke you up?"

"I'm a light sleeper." He yawned. "What's up?"

"Nothing. Go back to sleep."

"You don't need to boss me around, you know. I already have Jamila for that."

Nancy didn't answer.

Sonny became silent. After a few minutes, Nancy guessed that he was no longer awake.

The rest of the ride went uneventfully. When the driver finally arrived at the outskirts of down and pulled off the road, Nancy woke the others. She stepped out of the car and offered the sluggish Sonny a hand. As she did so, she caught sight of two Land Rovers a few feet more off the road and a man leaning on the front of it. How long had he been waiting? she wondered. He looked oddly familiar, with shaggy dark hair and glasses and a casual air.

Nancy retracted her hand. Forgetting Sonny as he tumbled out of the car as a result, she walked a few steps forward.

The man looked up. His eyes widened slightly.

"Do I know you?" she asked.

For a few seconds his mouth moved soundlessly. Then he looked away. "Uh, no. No, you don't."

Everybody else started filing out of the car, and Sonny got up off the ground.

The air was hot and thick. Aureate light filtered through several holes in a patched gray sky. A cluster of bruised clouds drifted past, and a few raindrops pounced leisurely on the tip of Nancy's nose. The young man haphazardly placed a hand over his head to shield himself.

He knew her, all right, and he wasn't friendly. But was he dangerous? A relative to someone she had put in jail? Family resemblance?

Nancy gritted her teeth. Why couldn't she remember?

Sonny took time in brushing dirt from his clothes. He threw Nancy a cool glance. "Thanks a lot," he said. "Great timing for a prank. Couldn't be better."

She waved him off and continued thinking. Who was it?

Finally it came to her, blurry, at first. A lodge. A table. An older Canadian man.

He was so misplaced here in the heat!

"Lou," she murmured.

He looked up sharply.

"Lou Talbot, right?"

"Yeah." He looked unhappy.

"That feels like it was eight years ago or something," she said in disbelief.

"I guess."

"You didn't have to leave so abruptly." Nancy offered a small smile. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"I had heard about another place where bones were turning up."

"Not on private property, I hope."

"Don't see how that's any of your business."

"If you're stealing, then yeah, it is."

"Well, I'm not going to be stealing anything on _this_ site, and I don't discuss my past."

Nancy's eyes hardened. But she couldn't push him too hard, she reminded herself. If he found out that she was a detective and then turned out to be untrustworthy, that could turn out badly for her. And if the other diggers found out about his past as a thief, that could turn out badly for them all.

How could she find out if he was trustworthy, though? Nancy looked around for some belongings around him or on his person, anything she could look through later to determine whether Lou had any hidden affiliations. To her chagrin, however, there appeared to be nothing apart from a rolled blanket in his possession.

"So, everybody," Lou raised his voice. "You're tired. I'm tired. I suggest we get moving. Other driver's in the other car. He's either shy or he's sleeping."

Lou climbed into his own car and shut the door. Slowly the others followed. This time Nancy opted for the car with the two strangers.

Once moving, Nancy tried several times to engage them in conversation. Alexander spoke concisely when addressed, but Holly answered with pointed sighs and sometimes, if Nancy was fortunate, one-word answers. In 40 minutes she had learned that Alexander was a newly-hired associate professor at Wesleyan. He had completed his doctoral work in early Mesoamerican civilizations with a concentration on the Maya and the Puuc region the year prior. Holly had been compiling research for a book and finished earlier than anticipated. Although Nancy was careful in remembering the details, the words exchanged didn't stay with her mind. She had to stifle several yawns out of politeness. She really should have slept in the car like the others.

The first thing Nancy noticed upon arriving was the size of the dig. She had participated in several digs over the years, but they all had been only a dozen people or so. Of course they had all been university digs, so maybe those were more intimate. Here, though, there were twenty-five to thirty people. More people meant less attention and an easier job for her. But how had they themselves been able to evade attention from the government? Maybe Dylan was right.

Upon closer glance she was surprised to see a pile of cloth and poles on the ground. Tents. It was odd enough that they were not erected, but, even more strangely, they were not white, but green. The shade was darker in some areas than in others, while some spots appeared almost white. It looked as though someone had taken a fistful of grass and smeared it over the cloth.

They had certainly gone to great lengths to blend in.

This was all she observed before one of the men noticed their arrival and walked over to greet them. As he drew closer Nancy saw that he was short and barrel-chested. "You must be the people Harvard sent," he said. "You come highly recommended from Dr. Fuentes. I'm Beltrán Gerro, leader of the Mexican team."

Another man appeared behind him and listened as he spoke. His eyes narrowed on Nancy.

Nancy beamed at them both. "I can't wait to get started."

Beltrán nodded. "Eager. Good. This is my friend José Mercedez from the Honduran team."

José stared at Nancy a moment longer before returning to the dig.

Beltrán opened his arms for a moment to introduce the busy sight before them. Then he placed them at his sides and smiled. "It is close to sunset, so we are putting up the tents. Please. Unpack. We, too, are eager for you to join us."

As he followed José, Nancy's mind returned to the thought of things ending badly. What exactly did that mean? Was any of the men here armed? Were they all armed? The others moved ahead of her with their suitcases. She continued to ponder.

* * *

**AN: Ah, Nancy. :D Boys take a back seat to cases. Suspects. Which are sometimes… other boys. (Remember her giving the cold shoulder to Ned in CRE after meeting up with the Hardy Boys?) Also, anyone notice that Nancy's a really bad liar? She comes up with the lamest excuses after looking through people's things. Example—Jamila: "You looked in my bag?" (which is closed and locked) Nancy's response: "I couldn't help but see." *facepalm* In all seriousness, I really love that HER mitigated her Sueness from the rewritten books. I'll take an occasionally-dorky Nancy over a prim, demure, and perfect yet somehow self-effacing Nancy anytime.  
**

**More supporting characters here. They're really not going to have big parts in the story, mostly background, but I did feel that their inclusion necessitated a proper introduction. And fear not: Lou does not fall in this background category.**

**I did want to get one more chapter in before going back to school, and I'll try to get another up pretty soon. Next chapter everybody's going to get in the swing of things, feel out the best way to fulfill individual jobs and roles without arousing suspicion, start noticing things and formulating theories, etc****. ****Thanks so much for the reviews and support with this story—it really does make all the difference****.**


	5. Chapter 5

Five minutes before sunrise Nancy stood alert, eye out for any sort of movement. The two main tents were about to go down. Usrique, like the rest of the Puuc region, had many hills, the tallest of which was the best vantage point. And because dawn hadn't arrived, no one could see her unless they looked closely. Now she watched shadows tap at the poles and cloth flutter to the ground.

For the past three days she had introduced herself, watched the look in their eyes to see who was the talking type, observed.

The other diggers were tight-lipped almost without exception. For now the quietude didn't seem out of the ordinary, assuming everybody cared only about getting the job done. Maybe it was cultural.

Or maybe everybody was hiding something.

In any case, Nancy stopped talking after the others gave her odd looks. She didn't want to give the impression that she spoke carelessly, not if she wanted them to trust her. Throwing herself into digging seemed to be the best way to earn it—especially from the supervisors.

Beltrán and José stayed with the others at all times. Very occasionally they walked a little ways away and talked privately, but never for very long, and never out of Nancy's sightline.

That was during the day.

There had to be some point when they weren't with the others.

Thus, the early morning reconnaissance.

Still the shadows moved in a loose cluster, none venturing away at any notable distance. Nancy had seen Beltrán and José with them; she was positive.

A pink rim formed on the horizon. She pushed herself to her feet and walked down the hill to join the others. Maybe tomorrow would be more productive.

The shadows grew colors as she approached and the sun came up. Lou stood apart from everybody else, eyes clouded in sleep or thought.

An idea came to Nancy. She strode over to him.

Lou nodded in greeting.

Nancy smiled.

He didn't.

"Not much of a talker, are you?"

Lou shook his head.

"I have a bit of an odd request."

"Not promising anything."

"Can you talk to some of the other diggers today? I figure it might help break the ice."

"Why me?"

"I tried."

He sighed. "What do I talk about?"

"Anything."

"Anything?"

"Anything you want. I just," Nancy looked at her feet and shrugged. "I don't like the silence."

"Fine," he grimaced.

Nancy's eyes followed a digger to one of the smaller tents. He emerged holding tools.

Until now, Nancy had had tools handed to her. This would be a good opportunity to look around. She stepped inside. Grabbing a shovel, mattock, brushes, and a screen, she turned to leave when her eyes closed in on something in the far corner of the room, hidden behind a small table.

Slowly she stepped closer.

A glint of metal caught her eye.

She knelt down and looked.

A power saw.

Out of place at a dig site…

Disturbingly so.

That job was easily and more safely accomplished with an auger.

A rustling sound at the tent flap made her leap up instinctively.

Beltrán appeared with his hands on his hips. She couldn't see his face, but his form was easily distinguishable. "We usually take the tools out to the new diggers," he said, voice empty of any detectable emotion. "But I suppose you've been here long enough."

Nancy immediately jumped into apologies, but he waved her off and laughed.

"You are the right type," he said, and this time Nancy heard a smile. "The others have been here so long that they've lost their excitement." With that, he turned and left.

It was just the character apologizing, Nancy thought to herself. She as herself would have stood her ground. She couldn't afford to be jittery. What happened last case happened last case. The likelihood of her cover being blown was no larger than it always had been.

This case…

Nancy swallowed.

Everything would change after this. She had to grow up, make her own living. No more taking cases for free.

Maybe no more cases ever.

Was this going to be the last one?

No, she thought. Stop thinking about the future. Stop.

That's what she had to tell herself when she was, she grimaced at the word, scared. In St. Louis. In Egypt. In Thornton Hall.

Nancy walked out of the tent and joined the others who were already digging. Shovels glistened in the sliver of light. Looking for grassless pits where people had started, she settled herself into a space next to Lou and got to work.

Instantly Lou started to talk.

Nancy nudged him. "You don't need to right now, not until there's more daylight," she said.

He said nothing as he scooped his shovel downward, but Nancy could read his displeasure from the force of the gesture and the tenseness of his back.

Sonny, on the other hand, had started chatting up everybody in the vicinity, talking as much as he was working… more, actually. Nobody really responded to him, and Nancy wouldn't have been able to see the faces of those who responded, anyway. Would Lou fare any better? she wondered.

Dylan seemed oddly quiet. He kept glancing up at Beltrán and José as they worked. When the sun had risen a little higher they noticed these looks and returned them warily.

Nancy gritted her teeth on a particularly stubborn patch of dirt. Were they suspicious? "Now's good," she whispered to Lou. "Start talking when you feel like it."

This proved to be much later than Nancy had hoped. But finally, just when she was sure he'd forgotten, he started to talk. "Anybody here been out to the Chicxulub crater?" he asked.

Richard offered a "No," while Alexander shook his head. Holly ignored him, and so did with the rest of the workers. Dylan didn't answer, and Sonny was engrossed in a one-sided conversation of his own.

"'s where it all ended for the dinosaurs," he said. "If you've been there, you've seen me. Part of the crater edge is around here."

So _that's_ what he was doing here, Nancy noted with some interest.

"'Cause you think, well, there have to be some bone specimens around, right?" He wiped sweat out of his eyes. "And even if not, that's firsthand learning experience about some life that predated you by millions of years. And I just got my MFA, and it's like, I'm not gonna need to be going back for a doctorate."

Alexander's feigned interest turned to real interest. Richard kept working.

"How long have you been around?" Nancy asked.

"A few months," he said without looking at her, facing the open land filled with workers. "Might be here for quite some time now; there's a lot to be looking for. Plus," he muttered at the sight, almost to himself, "lots of space, man. Lots of opportunities for my art."

Nancy smiled. Earthitecture.

"I forget how deep the crater is, but I'm going to the bottom of it. Figuratively _and_ literally… did that just blow your mind, or what? And—oh, wait, it actually says in my latest letter from Cousin Mel." Lou's hand went to his pocket. "Nuts. Left it in the tent."

"Cousin who?" Alexander asked.

"Oh, I haven't told you about Cousin Mel?" Lou's face lit up. "Yeah, Cousin Mel is a budding student at Oxford, but she's actually in Florence right now. Studying the art there. Because of her, I even got to meet Poppy Dada. You heard of her?" He looked around. "Poppy Dada?"

Most of the other men averted their eyes.

Lou looked at Nancy, who absently gave him a thumbs up. He reached into his front pant pocket and pulled out a photo, shoving it into the hand of a nearby digger and crossing his arms proudly.

"Oxford," Alexander Norgaard smiled appreciatively. "Very hard to get in, not to mention the cost."

"She got a full ride for graduating valedictorian." He broke out in a grin. "We always knew she was smart."

Nancy reached for the photo before it was handed back to Lou. There were three people. Lou, on the left, was wearing a suit and a bigger grin than even now, and Nancy also recognized the woman on the left as Mel Corbalis, looking almost exactly the same as she had at Waverly.

Wait… Mel Corbalis? Nancy fought to keep the surprise off her face. Couldn't take the chance of anybody knowing she was a detective.

She shrugged and refocused her attention to the one in the center. A woman with straight black hair and thickly-applied cat eyeliner stared back. Her eyes held a flat, sardonic look, and she had an intriguing curl of the lip.

Poppy Dada.

"Mel met her at an artist's gathering in Rome." Lou re-pocketed the photo after Nancy had given it back. "I just had to fly out for a couple of days, and I'm really glad I did."

"I haven't been to Rome since my undergraduate studies," Alexander said. "Is it still as crowded?"

"Yeah, wasn't very chill," Lou agreed. "But at least now I've been off the American continent."

Silence.

"Anyway, there are lots of interesting places around here for that kind of thing—dinos near doomsplace. Maybe the next time I drive you guys into town for supplies, I'll point some of them out."

After that he didn't say much of anything. Nancy offered a small grin of thanks, but she was disheartened at this stroke of luck. Why wasn't anybody else talking? How long would it be before any of them made a breakthrough?

* * *

The communal disinterest in Sonny's words dragged on and intensified. Still he talked, talked, talked, talked. He'd thought the smile would be infectious, but it didn't matter that it wasn't. At least he was above suspicion, and everybody on Team Henrik would be above suspicion by affiliation. Then everybody could do their jobs with a little more ease, and all he had to do was watch them and say crazy things once in a while. Which according to everybody else wasn't very hard for him at all.

Yes, Sonny thought. This was all going perfectly. Grandpa Jin would be so happy when he heard about this. He hadn't been able to reach him before leaving, but Jamila promised she'd pass the information along and, Sonny made a face, reiterate the point that _he needed to get a cell phone_.

Idly he traced patterns in the dirt with his shovel, first into drawings of tents, then pyramids, then a set of hills. Around one of the hills he drew a flat oval and four little rectangles inside it… windows. Then he used the flat of the shovel to wipe away the lines connecting the top of the hill to the sides, setting it free. He looked up at the sky. Creating a world was just as easy as imagining it.

What could the teachers have had in mind when they saw humanity crawling? What did they have in mind when they taught humans to stand only to watch them tear each other apart?

In his peripheral vision, Sonny saw movement on his left shoe. He knelt down and saw it was a beetle, and he let it wriggle onto his hand. It took jagged steps toward his wrist.

He lifted his hand to the top of the pit and gently flicked it off, watching it scurry away.

What did they have in mind when they saw thousands of careless feet and car tires? Of deer and bear heads above the mantle? Of the holes in the ozone? The sinkholes in Siberia? Destroyed habitats, endangered species?

Were they angry? Or just disappointed?

The window of change wasn't in five years, not by Jin's clock or the world's.

"Hey!" somebody shouted.

His head snapped up.

José glared down at him from the rim of the pit. "_Qué miras? Volver al trabajo_!"

Sonny fought the urge to roll his eyes. This was the not-fun part of working—actual work. "I'm on it," he called up. What rhymed with José? Rosey sort of did, but that didn't match his personality _at all_.

Unless he was speaking ironically.

Sonny's mouth curved upward in anticipation.

"Hey! I told you once; if you don't get back to work, we'll all take our lunches without you!"

"Heard ya," Sonny replied, grabbing his shovel and hitting the earth with a crack.

A few other diggers looked over.

"What was that?" Beltrán asked, appearing next to José.

Sonny froze. It was a sign. Something was here.

For three minutes he and three other men dug furiously around the object. Finally it was lifted out of the pit. Beltrán swiped his brush around it and blew off the rest of the dirt. His face fell.

It was just a rock. Almost perfectly the shape and size of a stone tablet.

But blank.

Modification, Sonny noted: something was here _soon_.

Never mind that he got that feeling every time something didn't turn up as well as did; this feeling was stronger. All the facts came together, all the mysterious artifacts, the weird dates, the eye-goggle glyphs, the rumors of a dead location revisited, and they pointed to here. _Here_.

He was half-glad Jamila wasn't here to tell him to slow down. "Wow. Gotta make _that_ the centerpiece of my rock collection," he heard himself say, while his thoughts tumbled leagues ahead. How much closer was this to the etude? Not the funny little piano pieces that bored him but the bigger tunes, the rumbling of tectonic plates as they bumped into and over one another, the hum of spaceships when they finally, _finally_, popped out of the clouds. Would he ever be able to meet his progenitors?

None of that he said, or could have said, because his mind would have already been too far ahead of _that_ point for him to remember it. But it was such a shame he couldn't. Everybody here would just continue not listening anyway. At first he had been mildly offended when Jamila had told him she'd pretended to be an alien believer so that others would think she was stupid, but he had to admit that the tactic worked.

What would Jamila say? Would she smile but stop him, tell him that this doesn't mean everything just yet?

Well good god, woman, when will it mean everything just yet?

Sonny closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. "Hypothetical," he said firmly.

Several people threw him an odd stare. That didn't matter. What mattered was that he couldn't call anybody from the site except for state of emergency. Too much, or in fact, any, contact would look suspicious.

His fingers itched on the shovel handle. He squeezed his eyes tighter shut. Don't think about dialing the phone.

He'd just have to freeze the moment in carbonite and tell her the minute he could.

* * *

Dylan reviewed his notes on everything he had learned from Abdullah's rejection. He needed to come across as smart. Smart, but weak. He had to put himself back in the mindset of an empty stomach, back to the choices he made in Egypt when he was trying to do this in earnest. The diluted truth. He had been too casual with Abdullah. He had to beg. Make them think he could be molded by them, ordered by them, without fighting back. Dylan adjusted his fedora over his head and walked into the tool tent, over to José.

José looked him up and down. "You're a guide, aren't you?"

"Yes!" Dylan brightened. "You've heard of me?"

He eyed him askance. "No. I can just tell."

"Look, I'm willing to help out here, but," Dylan leaned forward, "I was hoping that you could get me a connection, too."

José's thick eyebrows rose. "A connection?"

Dylan sighed long. "It's gotten impossible. But I love it and I just, I can't… I can't quit. Leading tours is the only thing I can do well; it's the only thing that makes me happy or gives my life any meaning. I've tried, I've tried so hard, but I'm miserable and hungry. I'm scraping by. But I'd rather die than change careers; I can't change careers. I'm absolutely rubbish at anything else. But I can't be a guide unless I have some…" his eyes rolled up to José, "revenue on the side."

For two minutes, José said nothing. Then his scowl gave way to a pensive frown.

Dylan's eyes remained wide and desperate.

Finally, José spoke. "I sense, Señor Carter, that you are telling the truth."

Now Dylan looked down. "It shames me to admit it, Señor Mercedez."

José looked pleased at the title and the fact that his surname had been pronounced correctly. "You are not as imperceptive as I thought," he said. "You are a shrewd man."

Dylan stayed silent.

"Perhaps you can be of some help to us—"

"I know I could—"

José held up an index finger, "—if you prove to be someone we can trust."

Again he was silent, hoping he looked lost.

José said nothing.

Dylan looked up, conviction in his eyes. "I'll do anything to keep doing what I do."

As José considered this, the expression on his face shifted. "I will need to discuss this with Señor Gerro. We may soon have use of you."

At this, Dylan swept his hat off and held it over his chest, shutting his eyes tight. "Thank you," he murmured.

"Later," José said. "You are dismissed."

If Dylan felt the sudden power lift him half out of his shoes, he could hardly help it. He'd never gotten this far with Abdullah. And maybe the people who knew would stop looking at him like he was a foregone conclusion of greed. When outside, he placed his hat back on his head. Hunger didn't have to drive him toward a world of danger and wrong. Hunger could remind him of all the other empty stomachs, and maybe it wouldn't be worse for them if their culture weren't stolen hot from under their feet.

* * *

At sunset Nancy wiped sweat from the back of her neck. The tents were up, blocking the brightness of the sun even as it dimmed. She trod off to the left tent and saw Sonny standing there. He checked in with her every day for new developments. She liked that. Sharing notes was the only good way to do an investigation like this.

"Anything so far?" he asked in an undertone.

"I've got a little. Mostly about who's talking with whom, who might have an agenda, who might be involved by affiliation. At least, that's what I'm trying to figure out. Kind of hard when nobody at all is talking."

Sonny stared blankly at her as she regaled him with her progress.

Finally Nancy grew frustrated with it. "Have you been listening to anything I've been—"

"Are you okay?"

Sharply she looked up at him.

"You look..." he searched for a word.

"Everything's fine," she responded with her own perplexment as she squinted. Something seemed off about his face. Nancy looked closer and saw, to her astonishment, that it was tinted orange. Was it a trick of the light?

Sonny scratched his ear. "What is it?"

The finger came back orange.

"Your dye's running," Nancy said.

My hair doesn't do well in the heat." He looked at a point above Nancy's eyes. "Oh, wait a minute."

"What?" she asked warily.

"Here." He reached and plucked a blade of grass out of her hair.

Nancy's skin tingled where his fingers had brushed her cheek in doing so.

"Red and green," he said with a little smile. "Can't have you looking like Christmas out of season."

She nodded.

He turned and opened his hand, letting the wind steal the grass. "You settling in okay?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Mmm-hmmm."

Silence.

Sonny examined her face. "Are you happy?"

"Yes, I'm happy. Just anticipating difficulties."

"Is that what you've been doing for the past few weeks?"

She froze. "What do you mean?"

"You seem a little different than you were at Pacific—"

Nancy looked around to make sure they weren't overheard.

Sonny took the cue. "Than you used to be," he said instead.

Considering this, Nancy stayed silent.

"I mean, you were always so serious when you were talking to me anyway, but on top of that—"

She looked up at him through a few layers of sweat. "This is one of my first major digs," she said. "I'm afraid I might screw up."

Genuine surprise filled his face. "You?"

"Did I tell you what happened on my last cas—dig, I mean?"

Sonny blinked. "Your cover almost being blown? Yeah, you did."

Nancy paused, taken-aback. "When did I tell you?"

"On the plane, I think. Wait," his brow furrowed in confusion as he shook his head, "that's still bothering you?"

"It just reminds me that I've got a ticking clock on this type of work." Sudden exhaustion overcame her, and she stifled a yawn. "This might well be my last case."

"It doesn't have to be, if you don't want it to. In fact, I have my doubts."

"Yeah, I know."

Sitting down on the grass, Sonny spoke thoughtfully. "Sometimes being an adult sucks."

"Tell me about it."

"Did I ever tell you about all the times I never thought about my future when I was your age?"

Nancy snorted. "That was what, two years ago?"

"Three."

She sat.

He looked over at her. "You're doing good."

"Which means at one point I'm going to screw up."

Frowning, he asked, "Where is this all coming from, anyway?"

"Just let me do what I came here to do, okay?" Nancy shifted and looked at the hills, and there she was filled with the locale and through that the entire set of circumstances, the last set of circumstances if she stopped taking cases. Taking this one had made everything that much harder.

"Nancy—" he began.

She stood and walked past him to the tent.

This was a different Sonny than the kicked-puppy Sonny in the New Zealand Caves who had doubted his grandfather's word. She knew that that was an infrequent side of him she saw, but it was that one that reminded her that weakness wasn't ever an option for her, the same way that her father's pain at her mother's passing had reminded her.

Two people who were upset couldn't accomplish much. One always had to be okay.

The future wasn't now, she reminded herself. _Now_ was now. No more dwelling.

* * *

**AN: It's about that time for another chapter, however short, as I wanted to get it under my belt before my conference presentation. Enjoy, and, as always, review!**

**Wanted to give Lou a chance to shine since he came in late last chapter, and since he's an interesting character in his own right. (Confession: I set the story in Mexico mostly for him.) And I realized that I really hadn't gotten into Sonny's head yet, so I threw that in. As for Nancy always being so serious when interrogating Sonny-she is that way with most suspects, but sometimes when she's talking to them she at least laughs if they do or say something funny. She seemed particularly no-nonsense with Sonny, and I don't really remember hearing her laugh or smile when talking to him. I only played part of **_**Shattered Medallion **_**recently, so I haven't had time to check up on that.**

**Should have another chapter up soon.**


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